


Renegade Knights

by pearypie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9524033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearypie/pseuds/pearypie
Summary: Sebastian/Elizabeth. 25 word prompts. Short and long drabbles of all shapes and sizes that explore the inexplicable relationship of Sebastian Michaelis and Elizabeth E.C. Midford.





	

**1\. Blame**

The young lady is a bounty of energy and ceaseless love; always eager with her smiles and generous in her affability. She is warm, so warm—Apollo's daughter—and he is drawn to her sunlight radiance. And, like the sun, she is capable of melting both waxwings and icebergs and he is surprised by the earnestness of her untarnished soul. So when she smiles at him—eyes wide with remorse and hands uncertain—he cannot find it in himself to blame her over the spilt tea and ruined French lace doilies.

**2\. Proof**

Lizzy doesn't need long soliloquies or monologues of intangible faith. Why would she? Poetic love is wonderful to read but Sebastian _proves_ his devotion each and every night—his hands spreading her legs and his mouth hot between her thighs as he licks, sucks, and kisses her in a manner that personifies sin itself.

**3\. Assistance**

When she arrives at Phantomhive Manor, dressed in a gown of amaranth pink, Sebastian faithfully extends his white gloved hand for her take as she exits the gilt gold carriage. Her footsteps are light and her smile is brighter than sea pearls held beneath the sun.

"You look lovely my lady." He compliments.

She looks his way, that smile still on her lips.

He opens his mouth again, to speak a verse from Shakespeare. Even if there is no audience to impress, he still wishes to steal her breath away while they stand outside, in the stone and ivy courtyard of his master's manse.

Before he can, she gives him a slight curtsey, one that is informal and full of mischief. "If I look lovely then you must be immaculate." She responds, voice full of laughter.

He holds their gaze and uses the moment to will himself to impartiality.

"Thank you for the assistance." She brushes past him (he smells warm May roses) while he stands there, not quite surprised but feeling a spark of _something_ that he can't quite name.

It's only when she turns back around that he remembers a word spoken long ago—centuries, perhaps—by two lovers in fair Verona.

_Affection._

**4\. Time**

Every hour of every day, Sebastian is awake, tending to his master's needs and cares with all the methodical precision of a surgeon at work. He goes back and forth, to and fro, never ceasing in his movements. Whatever needs to be done is completed and whatever shall be done is finished the next day. But while others might complain of monotony, Sebastian indulges in the curious oddities of the human world—how people rush from place to place, always going, going, going; always moving, moving, moving.

He's never understood the concept of time because it—time—like so many other things, is such a _human_ concept. Immortality stretches so far into the distance that to measure it by hour would be like measuring a mile with individual grains of rice.

Tedious—and unnecessary.

But his role as the Phantomhive butler is punctured by time; everything must be completed within its consigned time slot or else the structure of the schedule would be ruined and important engagements postponed.

Yes, he has learned the value of time (if only for this moment in his infinite life) but he does not—he physically _cannot_ —appreciate it.

Not truly.

Not until he felt a tender touch of _something_ when he saw Lady Elizabeth, resplendent in white and crowned with a halo of gold, enter Westminster Chapel. Her joy was effusive, affecting each and every creature she passed; women wept openly and men dabbed at their eyes.

Her husband-to-be stood at the alter while the butler was only a few feet away, a silent guardian of obsidian and shadow. He did not expect her to look his way but she did. Jade eyes clear and warm, rushing with emotion and surging with a vitality that freezes Sebastian in place, forbidding his arms to move or his legs to walk.

And in that moment, he wishes time would stop—that Chronos would cease—because never again would she smile so beautifully, laugh so warmly, or love so tenderly.

Time has a strange uneasiness attached to it because it reminds him that everything must one day expire. And while he has grown fond of his butler guise, of the events and sounds and _amusement_ of the human plane, he is still a demon.

And he is hungry.

**5\. Birthday**

For her birthday she is dressed in yellow-gold, with daffodils in her hair and golden lilies piled onto her lap. Her fiancé has given her boxes of finely tailored gowns, jewels the size of grapefruits, and held for her a celebration worthy of a princess. So she feels a hint of guilt—one that is quickly overwhelmed with joy—when the butler hands her a small token ("forgive me, my lady, for the impropriety of it all") that is inexpensive and a touch sentimental. It is a gift that should have been ignored on a day as grand as this but Elizabeth can think of no one but the butler when she plays the little tune he has composed for her himself.

**6\. Scientist**

She's always lacked the meticulous eye of the scientist; has never had a mind for numbers, figures, and Archemedian calculations. Perhaps if she were more like Aunt Ann, with her shrewd eye and clinical analyses, she might have been better prepared. She'd never made it a secret—she was the watchdog's fiancée and it was a title she was fiercely proud of. But it was also a target painted on her silk clad back.

A group of nefarious men affiliated with a group that Elizabeth can't name has held her beneath a cellar for two days. Mold and stone with damp floors caked in semi-dried mud.

She was bathed in darkness and the air was stale.

Once every hour a man in a white coat would shine a candle and observe her, writing notes in a journal and leering at her with an expression that is both lustful and derogatory.

She has been drugged to high heaven and can't move her arms—much less wield a sword. But she tries to catalogue every little detail in the hopes that it might help Ciel when he arrived. This is something she has unswerving faith in.

He _will_ come.

He is the Queen's Watchdog and he is ever so resourceful.

And his greatest resource, Elizabeth thinks contentedly, is the butler with the carnelian eyes—the same one that now holds her in his arms, covering her exposed body with his fine wool coat.

She is not a scientist—has never been one for numbers and figures—but such things are hardly needed when one has Sebastian by their side.

**7\. Silent**

The solitary memory of silence is one few would expect Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia to remember. A girl so full of life and light, a girl so filled with promise and possibility—what could _she_ understand of the darkness and the silence it contained?

She has not borne the sorrows great men have weathered and she does not know the burden that comes with politics, greed, and ambition. But she has known a loneliness that has cut into the hearts of poets and painted even the sunrise in shades of melancholy blue. When the world is beautiful but the mind cannot process its beauty—not when the heart aches with a grief too powerful to be named.

She does not think anyone knows—not even the boy she loves above all others, the one she has devoted her whole life to.

But _he_ knows. He knew the moment he set eyes on her—childish and fretfully spoiled. A little girl with rosy cheeks and presupposed innocence who ran to her beloved before stopping dead in her tracks.

He took one look into those jade green eyes and was startled by the awareness they held.

When he helped her out of the carriage he'd thought nothing of her—a loud, selfish, aggravating little girl with too much energy and too high a voice. These painfully human attributes hid what he now sees, plain and clear as mortality itself.

She bears her burden with silent suffering, cognizant of what lies beyond her rosy world but hopeful enough to fight for its existence. And that, the demon supposes (with unadorned interest), makes her a bit more interesting than all the others.

**8\. Behalf**

On behalf of his master, he does many things. Some he does willingly, some he does reluctantly—but he does it still, and always perfectly. On behalf of his master he has massacred innocents and razed villages to the ground. On behalf of his master he has burned truth and distorted trust—and he has done it all with an amused half-smile that betrays his true demonic essence.

But tonight, it's Lady Elizabeth who asks him for help. Who asks him to _fuck_ her, to give her a child, because Ciel _can't._

On behalf of his master Sebastian meets her at midnight. On behalf of his master he strips her of the thin, gossamer nightgown and admires the lush curves of her body, the snowy whiteness of her full breasts and the softness of herself. She stands there, somewhat uncertain, until he begins to unbutton his jacket and then it's Lady Elizabeth who is surging forth, removing his waistcoat and collared shirt to press herself against him.

Her breasts against the hardness of his chest, her arousal perfuming the air. He expects her to be delicate but she wants to be savaged—to be ravished and _burned_ and fucked until she can't remember right from wrong, sin from salvation.

And on behalf of his master, Sebastian obeys. It's not a difficult task, not when Elizabeth is all soft mews and sudden sighs before her hands claw down his back, fingernails breaking through skin and he is allowed to experiment because Countess Phantomhive does not easily bruise. So when he finally sees blueish-purple fingerprints on her hips, when her back is lined with bruises and cuts from how roughly he's taken her against the mahogany paneled door, the room smells of sex and his eyes are no longer human.

Her legs spread more easily as the night wears on and he drives himself into her more fiercely because she cries out for it, whispers _more, more, more._ Her stamina matches his and so does her appetite for sodomy. He takes her every which way and she is hot and tight and willing.

She comes with a sharp gasp and he follows with a low growl that causes his nails to turn to claws and for blood to spill from Lady Elizabeth's breasts. He laps it up, eager and wanton, and his thrusts become erratic until he is forced to bury his face in her hair as his release temporarily shifts his human form, giving her a glimpse of what he truly is.

A black feather lies on Elizabeth's pillowcase the next morning and nine months later, their daughter—Lady Catherine "Kitty" Phantomhive—is born with pitch-black hair and wide, jade eyes.

**9\. Rumor(ed)**

After the earl's death, against a backdrop of black veils and grey skies, a rumor erupts that is all at once scandalous and entrancing. Alexis Leon Midford's daughter has disappeared and, as the gossips would say, run away with the pitch-black butler.

They do not know about the Undertaker and his death scythe and how he stole the earl's soul.

They do not know about Lady Elizabeth's tears when she finally learnt the truth and confronted the demon-butler with swords and tears and screams of _why._

They do not know that it was Lady Elizabeth who asked the demon to ruin her too, so that she might better help him find Ciel's soul.

They do not know that a contract now mars the unblemished skin of the once golden girl.

They do not know that the butler hungers for two precious souls.

But they do know that she is gone—and so is he. They know that two years ago, at her debutante ball, the lady had danced with the butler (they do not know it was because the earl ordered him to) and they had made a striking pair—gold and onyx, twirling against a backdrop of shimmering pearl-marble.

The rumor persists.

**10\. Tip**

They're renegade soldiers—thieves and marauders, out to capture a lost soul. They find themselves in New Orleans and because Lady Elizabeth (or _pardon,_ Eliza Jones) is a human, they find a new fangled thing called a restaurant and she orders a Cajun meal.

He watches her with thinly veiled disinterest and grimaces at the food she consumes. _Poorly made and poorly done._ But she eats it all and doesn't once look his way. He wants to mock her lack of pretense—where have all her pretty manners gone?—but he doesn't care enough to actually enrage her.

Still, she is not dull enough to lose him completely.

At the end of her meal, when he leaves the money to pay, she tells him to leave a few coins more.

"For our server." She explains. "Aren't you supposed to be polite? It's customary, you know—you leave a tip for good service. And so they won't persecute you. Americans are very fond of revolutions."

**11\. Idle**

There's a quote about idleness and devils somewhere out there. Something about listlessness and bedeviled demons—Lizzy can't really remember and honestly, she does not care.

They've been on St. Croix for two weeks now and all she's done is _absolutely nothing._ Summer in the Caribbean is hot but she's cold—so cold—without Ciel. It's begun to seep into her bones now, this unnatural wintery chill.

Whatever made Ciel as cruel as he was has begun to infect her too. So sitting here, in the cool, idle shade, drinking iced tea sweetened by slave made sugar, Lizzy can't feel anything at all.

Not a single thing.

**12\. Brother**

There are a plethora of words that describe Edward Midford—honorable, valiant, strong-willed, and brave are just a few that come to mind. But the term 'observant' has never come up in the first—or even second—time around. And it's not as if Edward is ignorant—he's top of his class at Weston and one of their finest cricket players—he merely chooses not to acknowledge the darker and more unsavory aspects of his life.

He is, after all, half Phantomhive.

But there are some things that can't be ignored—some things that are simply too big (or too terrible) to be brushed under the carpet.

And one of them pertains to the girl he'd do just about anything for.

Because what people fail to see about his sister, his dear sweet Lizzy, is that she can love almost anyone or anything. The love she readily gave to her fiancé was an open, luminous self-sacrificing love that was apparent in every action she undertook. It was why Edward despised Ciel with a loathing that bordered on hatred—here Elizabeth was, giving him so much of her love, and he simply chose to discard it as if it were no more valuable than rainwater itself.

The love she burns with now is different.

It's a passionate, volatile, dangerous kind of love—one that threatens to spread and catch fire with everything that comes its way. It's an uncontrollable, untamed sort of love that will kill her one day—sooner rather than later.

And perhaps worst of all, Edward despairs, is that this love is directed towards the butler himself.

**13\. Beneath**

Beneath the charcoal painted portrait of supposed inhuman perfection, the crow-demon has never felt worthy. How can he when the wings he once possessed were white as a new dawn, when his obligations were of a celestial sort, and when he was beloved by those who'd never set eyes on him?

**14\. Redecorate**

She loves to decorate. To put conjoining colors, shapes, feathers, and objects together to create something new and vogue and wonderful. Sebastian has never understood the desire for fashionable human change but when he sees Elizabeth—immortal and crimson eyed—in a slinky 1920's flapper dress, he thinks he can at least pretend to understand why.

**15\. Gravitation**

It was Sir Issac Newton who discovered the universal law of gravitation but it was Sebastian Michaelis—a _demon_ —who understood the devotion such attraction entailed.

**16\. Kilt**

The Midford's can trace their ancestry to the ancient days of proud Scotland; those tenacious, full-blooded warriors who had steel in their bones and song in their souls. She supposed they learned to fight so courageously and defend so valiantly in order to justify the green and red "man skirts" they were forced to wear in public.

**17\. Arrest(ed)**

They arrested Emerson Mortcombe on January 14th, a month after his young master's passing. He was charged with the earl's death and sentenced to his own death by hanging; but on the cold, grim morning of his execution, they found only his mutilated corpse. His skin had been peeled and discarded, his organs (still in him) had been burned and stab wounds pierced every inch of his pathetic body. It was the demon who'd unlocked the cell door, watching the massacre with macabre glee. Lady Elizabeth had shown no mercy.

**18\. Unearth**

She followed them to the perpetrator's home but Sebastian had not said a word. His master didn't know and the demon enjoyed these petty torments. It didn't matter—not when she fought with ice cold precision and bathed the dark wood floor with the blood of those she'd slain. But when Joe Kipling's bullet tore through her shoulder and she let out a cry of pain, Sebastian reacted on instinct. He lunged towards Joe Kipling and tore him limb from limb with his bare hands and didn't give a thought to the ruined white gloves. His every action held an undercurrent of viciousness that was both unnecessary, unyielding, and unforgivably… _for her_.

For Lady Elizabeth had unearthed a emotion he did not know he was capable of feeling.

_Fear._

**19\. Lens**

"Look at what I've found!" She laughs delightedly. "Aren't these the lenses you wore at Weston?" Elizabeth holds up a pair of discarded spectacles (she's always fancied herself a helper and today, she's been rummaging through the attic) to Sebastian.

"Indeed, my lady."

She scampers up, skirts crinkled and petticoat rumpled, but it doesn't matter. Her smile is too transfixing for the eye to wander anywhere else.

"Here you are then!" She stands on her tip toes but still, the butler is taller.

"Allow me, Lady Elizabeth." He puts the lenses on.

She frowns. "You don't look quite so sinister wearing those."

"Do I not?"

"No." She shakes her head. "You'd best take them off. I hope you don't mind my saying this, but your eyes are so much brighter without those lenses."

**20\. Blacklist — 1972**

Cocaine heart and a bad boy addiction. He was the truant leather clad enigma who sometimes smoked outside Queen Victoria's School for Girls and everybody—and she means _everybody_ —went wild over just how _bad_ he was. He has a record that's a little bit unbelievable and last year was the first time he'd stepped foot on American soil since 1968, when he was accused of murdering his ex-boyfriend Ciel Phantomhive. Since then he's gone on a string of high profile dates with numerous socialites and stood trial in court because the US government wants to get _something_ out of him. After all, they did extradite him out of the USSR.

But he takes it all with a sort of blasé carelessness that could've only been cultivated through years of systemic cruelty. Lizzy doesn't miss his serpentine movements, how his body coils like a snake, ready to swallow his prey whole. In fact, she should hate him because Ciel was her cousin she loved, loved, loved him.

Except the thing with Lizzy is, she's got enough empathy to love the whole damn world and when Sebastian Michaelis approaches her one fine June day, she doesn't know what to say. Half of her wants to taser his ass back to Siberia but the other half—the traitorous, curious half—just looks at him with an expression of _do you want something?_

"I've been waiting for you for quite a while." He says, blowing out a bit of smoke.

And, before she can react, he bends down and kisses her—right then and there. It's all teeth and tongue and Sebastian holds her in the most intimate way; one hand's around her waist and the other is clawing at her thighs, hoisting her up so her legs wrap around his hips.

She feels as if someone's poured Novocaine on her lips and lit a fire in the empty recesses of her lungs.

He sucks her bottom lip and tastes sugar sweet frosting with a hint of exotic cinnamon. Pulling back, Lizzy looks at him with half-glazed eyes and wonders if she's gone crazy.

"Now we're on the blacklist together." He murmurs, voice soft and possessive.

In the midst of Sebastian's heated kiss, Lizzy had forgotten all about the FBI officers who'd been keeping tabs on the school and the predator who stalked its premises.

But instead of anger and indignation, Lizzy just laughs and comments _well, this is one way to ask a girl out._

**21\. Misquoted**

"Why have you _heard,_ Patrice? Countess Phantomhive's been having an _affair_ with that stately butler of their's! The earl's personal servant! A delicious scandal if there ever was one!"

"But Dolly, how do you know?"

"How do I know? Dear child, are you dumb, deaf, and blind? The countess said, and I do mean this _seriously,_ that she and the butler have been," the noblewoman lowers her voice, " _keeping scandalously late hours!_ "

"No!"

"Yes, indeed!"

But, in truth—

"Oh dear Paula, I've been keeping such late hours and I feel rather terrible for forcing Sebastian to stay up with me. It's awfully difficult to plan a surprise party for the Queen's Watchdog when he's always everywhere at once."

**22\. Copying**

After she becomes Countess Phantomhive, Lady Elizabeth begins to shed her excess color and bright, energetic words. She dresses in shades of dark blue and green and keeps her golden curls bound in a tight bun behind her head. Her hands are never seen—always covered by black lace gloves—and sometimes, she dons trousers and carries dual swords. Before, she used to cry for every life she took. Now, she simply complains of the mess these dead corpses leave behind.

She's grown so good at mimicking the earl's apathy that Sebastian sometimes wonders if she's been mimicking at all.

**23\. Argument**

"I'm leaving soon, Elizabeth." Ciel cuts into his meal, a bit of blood oozing from the rare Welsh rabbit.

"Where?"

"Eastern Europe." He answers evasively.

She looks at him for a moment. "Oh I see." The countess murmurs. "Would you like me to…" she falters, green eyes flicking to Sebastian who silently shakes his head. Her lips purse, hands clenching together as she struggles to restrain herself from screaming outright. "I mean, when do you depart?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"I wish you a safe journey." She says resignedly, like a good wife ought.

There are, after all, no arguments in the Phantomhive household.

**24\. Shield**

In a way, they were both shields—just packaged differently, that's all. One came in silver and rippling, black onyx fire. Liquified sin from the depths of the underworld itself. If one looked closely, they could see the dried blood stains of those foolish enough to challenge him.

The other was crafted from the white-grey of Brunhild's armor, tapered with white daisies and strong golden sunflowers. Morning light radiated off its shining metal surface.

Two shields bound to the protection of a single king.

**25\. Bell**

Large, leathery wings beat above her head. Black feathers rain down from the sky. Long ago, the villagers insist, the crow demon fell in love with the sun god's daughter. He covered the earth in smoke and black vapor while he and the sun god waged war on each other. But the sun god had allied himself with the moon queen and the devastation they wrought on his dark kingdom was heavy. But he could not give up, for every time he looked down on earth he could hear the sweet bell laughter of his little sun princess and this imbued him with a strength greater than the celestial stars themselves. So his wings beat on, heavy and strong, obscuring the sound of her laughter from everyone save himself.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Um. So this is my guilty pleasure fic and I can't help but like it, just a little bit XD
> 
> Feedback welcome.


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